


Happy Hour

by Not_So_Austen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Gay Bar, M/M, Pretending to Be Gay, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Austen/pseuds/Not_So_Austen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles undercover in a gay bar. Because reasons.</p><p>_____________</p><p>Scott makes a frustrated whine at the back of his throat. "No, Stiles, <em>we</em> have to kiss," he says, motioning between them in visual explanation. Scott shoots a quick glance over to the dance floor and Stiles follows his gaze to where Danny and his potentially murderific new beau are back in view and heading their way.</p><p>"Because we're boyfriends. At a gay bar. With gay guys. Because we're gay. Together," Scott says very pointedly, sharp and quiet as possible right into Stiles' ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Hour

The music is so loud it's almost suffocating. Strobe lights illuminate the dance floor in a constantly changing rainbow of colour to the beat of the music. There isn't much room to move: dancing couples and groups shift against one another in a writhing, inescapable mass. Stiles presses in closer to Scott, one hand sliding up to cup the back of Scott's neck while the other remains firmly gripped to Scott's hip. 

To be honest Stiles feels incredibly awkward clinging to his best friend like this, but he's the arm candy for this particular mission and he's not going to let the more sceptical pack members have their lack of faith in his abilities be confirmed. And besides, three guys have already blatantly flirted with Scott since they got here even though Scott and Stiles are _so obviously_ here as a couple. Why is it never Stiles on the receiving end of that attention? Just once would be nice for some validation. A guy could get self-esteem issues.

Stiles levels a glare at Attempted Date Stealer Number Four who thankfully takes the hint without pushing the issue (like the blatant flirter Number Two had) and removes the hand that had been unrepentantly copping a feel of Scott's ass. And come on, who the hell does that? 

Scott rests his head in the crook of Stiles' neck to muffle his laughter. Stiles can feel Scott's body convulsing with it, can feel Scott laughing by the exhales against his skin. It tickles: each outward breath sends a cool gust of air coasting across Stiles' warm skin and causes an involuntary shiver to run down his spine.

"Not cool, dude," Stiles huffs quietly, knowing that Scott can hear him clearly even over the din of the room. He tangles a hand in the hair at the back of Scott's head and gives a harsh tug to emphasise his point.

Scott snorts one more laugh into Stiles' neck and straightens up, grinning at Stiles in response. They're still so close that their noses bump occasionally as they move to the music. 

"Hey," Scott yells into Stiles' ear after what feels like an eternity of increasing awkwardness on the dance floor. "You wanna get a drink?"

Stiles follows Scott's line of sight to where Ethan and Danny have shifted through the crowd. They would definitely have a better vantage point from over by the bar. Stiles is actually a little surprised at how subtle a move that was for Scott. It's not that Scott isn't clever or that he's unobservant, but usually he gets so caught up in the moment that he doesn't take into account that he needs to be more underhanded. And instead of blurting out in the middle of the club that they need to move so he can keep within visual range of their targets, he actually managed to convey the need to move in a completely normal way that doesn't give away their game. Derek is wrong: they are totally awesome at being undercover.

Scott leads the way, clearing a path through the crowd while Stiles trails after him, fingers hooked through Scott's belt loops so they don't get separated in the constantly shifting sea of guys. The Jungle is really swamped on Friday nights. There's hardly any unoccupied space in the building, even away from the main dance floor there are clusters of guys taking up so much space it's difficult to traverse their way through without having to call out a few apologies until they make it through to the bar.

They split up for a few minutes. Scott makes a bee-line for the bar while Stiles pushes his way to the side of the room and settles in against the first available space against the wall. Despite the constant movement of the crowd, the spot makes a pretty good vantage point, giving a fairly unobstructed view of Danny and the back of his date's head. Scott joins him a few minutes later with a drink in each hand that by some miracle have both remained completely unspilled. 

"Thanks, dude," says Stiles, accepting his drink. He gives it a cursory glance and a cautious sniff before taking a sip. "Pepsi?"

Scott shrugs a shoulder and says apologetically, "It's the best I could do." It is much easier to hear him from this new location, farther from the speakers and not so drowned out from the middle of a crushing crowd. 

Stiles waves a hand at Scott to say it's no problem and they settle in against the wall, sipping their drinks and trying to inconspicuously spy on Danny and the Alpha twin. They're not sure what kind of thing they're dealing with: if the Alpha pack are looking for an easy in to get information on the resident pack of Beacon Hills by seducing someone on the periphery of their group; if they're going to bite Danny and use him against them; or if, by some crazy unlikely chance, Ethan actually likes Danny and this is a legitimate date. They can't let Danny get hurt, and Derek can't risk the possibility of having a Beta under the Alpha Pack's control who could potentially have more insight into Derek's pack than he realises. 

The crowd shifts around as time passes and Stiles loses sight of Danny and Ethan as they disappear into the sway of bodies and poor lighting. Scott doesn't seem to lose track of them, though. Heightened werewolf senses pull through again. Stiles sucks on the straw in his Pepsi, trying to avoid distracting Scott as he eavesdrops on whatever intimate conversation the couple might be yelling very discretely to one another over the music. 

Seemingly out of nowhere Scott's head snaps around to look at Stiles by his side and he says in a quiet rush, "Derek said we have to make out."

Stiles takes a moment to choke on his straw and the bit of liquid he accidentally inhaled. " _What?_ Isn't that an abuse of his Alpha mind control powers? I mean, Peter was a dick but at least he only tried to make you kill your friends. Wait. No, that was probably worse. Definitely worse for _me_. But still, someone needs to have the 'bad touch' talk with Derek. This is a new low even for him."

Scott makes a frustrated whine at the back of his throat. "No, Stiles, _we_ have to kiss," he says, motioning between them in visual explanation. Scott shoots a quick glance over to the dance floor and Stiles follows his gaze to where Danny and his potentially murderific new beau are back in view and heading their way.

"Because we're boyfriends. At a gay bar. With gay guys. Because we're gay. Together," Scott says very pointedly, sharp and quiet as possible right into Stiles' ear. Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes. He manages to get out an, "Oh," and then Scott's mouth has moved away from Stiles' ear to firmly relocate itself over Stiles' own mouth. 

Even though he's expecting it, Stiles isn't entirely prepared, so his arms flail forward in surprise and he struggles to find purchase. Belatedly he realises his drink is still firmly clasped in his right hand when he smacks it into Scott's back. Scott doesn't seem to mind or care as he presses Stiles against the wall and Stiles clings to Scott like some romance novel damsel just to keep himself upright. 

This isn't Stiles' first kiss, but it is his first kiss with tongues and it is probably some epic sign of how depressing his life is that his first real kiss is with his best friend as nothing more than a stupid cover for some reconnaissance on another sort-of-friend. But Stiles isn't going to analyse that just now. Because his best friend's tongue is in his mouth and it is warm and wet and like some sort of weird massage that he never imagined would feel this good in practice. And then Scott's tongue does some weird acrobatic thing and Stiles is pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting. His legs are rendered a quivering useless mess and he clings to Scott harder to compensate, lets the empty plastic cup fall to the floor and pulls Scott's body impossibly closer to his own in the hope that sandwiching himself so firmly between Scott and the wall will be enough to stop his legs from buckling underneath him, leaving him a hopeless broken wreck on the floor. 

Scott really isn't pulling any stops and Stiles spares a moment to be impressed by his dedication to their mission. Until Scott's knee nudges it's way between Stiles' legs and, while it's almost a relief to have that extra support to keep himself vertical, there's suddenly all this _friction_ and things are going to get very uncomfortable very quickly in the vicinity of Stiles' jeans and also in the general area of their friendship. 

Stiles is about to do something, whether that is to end the kiss or something much more stupid he isn't sure, when the decision is made for him. Scott breaks the kiss and Stiles _might_ try to chase Scott's lips as he pulls away but if questioned about it in the future he will deny it. Mostly because he is woefully unsuccessful.

It is some small consolation that while Scott ends their totally awesome lip-locking action he doesn't go so far as to move from the position he's in. Both of them are breathing heavily into the small space between them, practically sharing breath, and Scott is still pinning Stiles to the wall which is very considerate, if you ask Stiles, because there is no way he can stand of his own volition right now. He can't even seem to get a firm grasp on talking which is what Stiles is best at. And now all he can think about are a few other things he'd like to get a firm grasp on. His brain is the worst.

Danny actually does a double take when he passes them. "Scott?" Danny asks and manages to sound both curious and hesitant. And yet still comfortable enough to completely ruin the moment. If it were humanly possible for Stiles to dislike Danny then he would dislike him so damn hard right now. 

"He-ey, Danny," Stiles says when Danny and Ethan come to a halt. Stiles is pleased his voice only sounds slightly manic: no more than it would if he had just taken a bit too much Adderall.

"Stiles," Danny replies with that look of slight annoyance and pain he gets whenever Stiles tries to talk to him. It's either because Danny finds Stiles irritating or because he is pained by his overwhelming attraction to Stiles' personal charms. One day Danny will admit it's the latter.

"Hey Danny," Scott says with a warm casual tone that Stiles is entirely incapable of right now. Scott smiles, all dimples and unassuming charm. Not that Stiles finds Scott charming. Except Stiles _has_ met him before. So yes, he kind of does. 

"I didn't expect to see you guys here," says Danny with more than a hint of suspicion. It's only fair, though, since no one who knows them would expect to find Scott and Stiles getting quite so intimate at the Jungle of all places. Thanks in equal parts to Scott and Allison's prolific tale of true love and the sad common knowledge that the entirety of Stiles' sexual experience lies solely with his own right hand.

"Yeah," says Scott sheepishly. And _seriously_ , his _dimples_. "Hey, uh, about that... Do you think you could not mention this to anyone?"

Danny eyes them sceptically for a moment and Stiles' almost misses it because Ethan is much more subtle than Scott -- not that it would take much, to be honest -- but in the periphery of his vision Stiles sees Ethan carefully sniffing in their direction. He definitely doesn't miss the way Ethan's eyes snap immediately to focus on Scott, flashing red for the briefest second, and if he didn't know Scott was a werewolf before he certainly does now. 

Ethan's arm wraps around Danny's waist in a very proprietary display as Danny huffs out a deliberating breath. He doesn't answer, though, eyeing them speculatively and, before Stiles can really think about it, he very suavely and tactfully blurts out, "Allison knows we're here." The words just tumble out of his mouth with no interjection or censorship whatsoever from his brain which is still stuck on the very conflicting issue of wanting to ride his best friend's thigh to the land of mutual orgasms in the middle of a crowded club.

"Uh," says Danny, looking uncomfortable, like he's trying to avoid looking directly at Scott or Stiles. "I'm not going to get involved in this. Whatever this is."

There's an awkward moment where they all just stand there in uncomfortable silence, then Danny clears his throat and says, "We're just going to," he gestures in the direction of the bar. Then, almost like an afterthought, he turns to Scott and says, "You could do better. No offence, Stiles."

With that Danny and his date turn and push their way through the crowd leaving Scott and Stiles where they are: with Stiles stuck between a wall and a hard place.

"Offence definitely taken!" Stiles shouts at Danny's retreating back, but Stiles knows he probably didn't hear it, the words getting swallowed up by the background noise.

Nothing else happens for a while. The crowd shifts as people move on and off the dance floor and circulate the room. It's almost like Scott and Stiles are locked inside a time bubble: not moving save for the rise and fall of their chests which are not quite touching anymore, a sliver of space that distanced them during their brief encounter with Danny. Their bodies are slotted together like the world's most fantastic two-piece jigsaw puzzle and Stiles stops caring about anything other than what he wants right now.

So he readjusts his hands, his fingers flexing against Scott's back, and rocks his hips up along the thigh bracing him against the wall. Scott looks surprised for a moment, then he leans in and sniffs along Stiles' neck in the most obvious way and, seriously, he needs work on that. 

"You want," Scott starts to ask, but never quite finishes, the unspoken final half of the sentence seems to hang in the air between them. 

Stiles feels a sharp stab of some emotion he can't quite pinpoint deep in the recesses of his stomach. Guilt? Regret? He doesn't have time to dwell on it and he chokes on his own almost-vocalised apology because Scott shifts ever so slightly and Stiles can feel the steadily hardening evidence of Scott's interest in the proceedings. Stiles knows, in the rational part of his brain that he is actively trying to ignore right now, that it is likely nothing more than two bodies reacting to physical stimuli: a boner is not a declaration of love, after all. But Stiles knows Scott and he knows that Scott won't do anything here he isn't entirely comfortable with and that anything that _does_ happen won't cause any friction between them other than the very, very good kind. 

"Yeah," Stiles says when he remembers that Scott is waiting on an answer here. "Pretty sure I've said many, many times that I do."

"This is different," says Scott, serious with just a hint of worry. "You know we don't have to, right?"

And okay, so Scott is worried about compromising Stiles' virtue? That's kind of sweet, but Stiles really just wants to get all up in that mouth-on-mouth action they had going before. 

"Dude, I know," says Stiles. "And as long as you keep the claws retracted I am one hundred percent on board with what is happening here."

"I want this," Stiles adds and punctuates it with a roll of his hips. It must be what Scott has been waiting to hear because he spurs into action, leaning forward to recapture Stiles' lips.

Stiles tries to take the initiative, licking into Scott's mouth to deepen the kiss, but his inexperience shines through and it ends up an enthusiastic mess of saliva. He whines in protest as Scott pulls away because this is _so_ not what Stiles wants to happen. But Scott carefully repositions them, cups Stiles' jaw with one warm palm and when their lips meet this time it's more controlled and a hundred times more amazing. 

Stiles lets Scott coax him through the motions, lets Scott tilt his head _just so_ to get a better angle and demonstrate his technique. For his part, Stiles notes every movement and catalogues it for future reference. He cautiously tries to reciprocate, copying what Scott does without completely derailing them or getting his drool back on. 

It's slower and more tender than Stiles has patience for the longer it goes on. He's distantly aware that this must be how Scott kisses Allison, but he doesn't linger on that thought too long, much more caught up in the urgency of the present situation. Stiles clutches at Scott's back and grinds against him in an almost frantic repetition and Scott responds in kind, meeting every one of Stiles' thrusts with his own more controlled rhythm. 

Eventually Stiles has to come up for air. He takes a few deep, shuddering breaths while Scott rests his head in the crook of Stiles' neck. Every point of contact between them is wreaking the best kind of havoc on his nerves, none so intense as the rocking of Scott pelvis and thigh against his dick, even separated by so many layers of clothing. Stiles knows he might come in his pants just from this distant friction if the pleasure centre of his brain doesn't overdose on chemical reactions first.

"Derek is the creepiest, best wingman ever," Stiles mutters, mostly to himself, vocalising a random thought chasing around his overloaded mind. "There's got to be a card for that." 

Scott barks a laugh into Stiles' shoulder in response. 

With the next thrust of his hips Stiles can feel Scott's dick straining against his jeans which weren't exactly baggy to begin with. Stiles knows from experience that it is far from the best feeling so he makes an executive decision.

"I'm just going to," he says and fumbles at Scott's belt between them. With no small amount of pride, Stiles manages to open the clasp one-handed. He's working on popping the button of Scott's jeans when a gruff voice to the side says, "Excuse me, boys, but I'm going to have to ask you both to leave."

Stiles and Scott freeze for a moment, then jerk apart, quickly disentangling themselves and putting a good three feet of space between them. Scott fumbles with his belt buckle while the very beefy security guard escorts them to the front entrance of the club. 

"This isn't that sort of establishment," the ridiculously muscular security guard informs them. And seriously, his _biceps_. There are full grown turkeys smaller than that.

Outside, Scott and Stiles make their way to the side of the building where they find most of the group waiting for them. Scott goes to address Derek, share whatever he managed to see and overhear, but Stiles hangs back. He jumps a little in surprise when Allison sneaks up out of nowhere, seemingly manifesting out of the shadows to appear at his side. She's casually holding her compound bow and a sheath of presumably explosive arrows hangs on her hip.

"You guys did good," she says, innocuously enough. There's a slight quirk to the corner of her mouth that let's Stiles know she's taking this all with good humour. "Did you have a nice time?"

"You," says Stiles, "are a very lucky woman."

Allison grins, wide and beaming and with heart-melting dimples of her own. "I really, really am," she says, and slings an arm over Stiles' shoulders.


End file.
